


a therapeutic chain of events

by trishapocalypse



Series: it's not so pleasant and it's not so conventional [1]
Category: One Direction (Band), The 1975 (Band)
Genre: M/M, cute boys making out and being cute and stupid together, i've NO idea how to tag this, idk - Freeform, pretty much just funny and cute things??? idk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-30
Updated: 2014-03-30
Packaged: 2018-01-17 13:02:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,767
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1388626
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trishapocalypse/pseuds/trishapocalypse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Matty knew before he even hung up his mobile that George was never going to let him live it down; he knew in the midst of his rambling that this was a moment George and the lads would be reminding him of <b>for the rest of his bloody life,</b> but. No, Matty guessed he pretty much deserved it, calling Harry up out of nowhere on the radio and asking for money. He pretty much deserved being mocked and ridiculed and the like, really, because he was an <b>idiot.</b></i>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>(Or: post-Call-or-Delete.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	a therapeutic chain of events

**Author's Note:**

> Pals, I've had it all wrong-- _we've_ had it all wrong. Matty is very obviously the shy, bumbling one, here. So I, of course, have to rectify my earlier transgressions. (Who am I kidding? They're not transgressions. This is just a different type of self-indulgence...) I just had to write a little something-something after my week was fucked up with Call-or-Delete. There will more than likely be a second part, not sure what it'll entail, but it'll probably happen. I don't even know what this is. Does this qualify as a drabble? Whatever--Here ya go! I hope Stealy ruins your life the way it's ruining mine. (Heavy sigh.) Also! This is heavily, _heavily_ inspired by a few posts I've seen on tumblr. I don't have the links but if you feel your post has ~appeared~ in here somewhere, message me and I'll add a link for credit because I don't want to be ~one of those people~ so. Anyway. 
> 
> As always: hastily beta'd, all mistakes are mine, my darlings know who it's dedicated to, this never happened, you're perfect, and I love you.
> 
> tumblr: @trishanthemum ! come say hiiiii; let's be pals. ^___^

Matty knew before he even hung up his mobile that George was never going to let him live it down; he knew in the midst of his rambling that this was a moment George and the lads would be reminding him of _for the rest of his bloody life,_ but. No, Matty guessed he pretty much deserved it, calling Harry up out of nowhere on the radio and asking for money. He pretty much deserved being mocked and ridiculed and the like, really, because he was an _idiot._

(It didn’t exactly help matters that after the interview, when Matty and the lads were at lunch, that Matty kept looking at his mobile, then at George, and asking if he should text Harry and apologize.)

(It also didn’t help matters that George just rolled his eyes and told him to get over it, forget about it and move on.)

(And, well, the next day when Harry texted Matty, _good one mate x_ and Matty had yet _another_ fangirl-spaz-attack that George actually slapped him upside the head before Matty found his words and actually apologized, **so sorry, mate! didn’t mean any harm.** And Matty didn’t expect a response after that, or ever, actually, so he was more than a little surprised when Harry messaged him back almost immediately, _no worries, mate, haha x._ )

(And that _definitely did not_ lead to Matty texting him back, saying they should meet up for drinks, because then Matty would’ve had to admit to George and the lads that Harry didn’t respond to that message at all.)

So Matty tried not to think about it, really, and he did a decent job. He went back on another stretch of tour and smoked way too much and bought a twelfth pair of black jeans that were ripped at the knee (because eleven wasn’t enough, apparently). And by the time he was back in the city, he had almost completely forgotten about it (save, of course, for twitter and the internet and fucking _George_ ), forgotten about making a complete and utter fool of himself in front of Harry Styles. Whatever— He was _fine,_ really. 

And that was how he found himself agreeing to go to the pubs for a few drinks with the lads, not surprised when the place was packed full of people, and Matty made his way to the bar while Ross found them a table. And when Matty drank with the lads, it was always a laugh, and he wasn’t sure how much time passed before he made his way back to the bar for another shot. He wasn’t drunk, was on his way to being pleasantly buzzed, when he stopped dead in his tracks. He shook his head once or twice, instantly regretting it, and he walked slowly over to the bar where _Harry bloody Styles_ was leaning against a barstool, smiling at him. 

Matty huffed out a little laugh, scratching the back of his neck, and he paused next to Harry, ordering his round, before turning to face him. “Hello, Harry.”

“Hi, mate,” Harry drawled, his dimple deepening in his cheek.

Matty felt a flush creeping up the back of his neck, and he jumped when the bartender slid his shot across the counter next to a pink fizzy drink that _must’ve_ been Harry’s. He reached into his pocket for his money, but Harry slid his black American Express card over the counter and grinned a little wider. “I can—“

“Hear you might be having some money troubles,” Harry teased.

Matty felt his cheeks go red, and he was silently thankful that the pub didn’t have the best lighting, hoped it wasn’t _completely_ obvious, and he ran a hand through his hair as he forced out a laugh. “Yeah, ha! Actually, I’ve been meaning to apologize for that. I, uh, I should’ve apologized earlier. It was, uh, just a laugh, right?”

Harry’s grin turned a little lopsided as he laughed, head tilting to the side, and he lifted a shoulder in a shrug. “Just a laugh, right,” he repeated, taking his card back from the bartender and shoving it into the pocket of his skin-tight jeans. He watched Matty for a moment, the bloke shifting from foot to foot, and he fiddled with the straw of his drink. He could see Niall waving his arms from the corner of his eye, probably wondering what was taking so bloody long, but he ignored him in favor of slinging an arm around Matty’s shoulders and pulling him in.

“Wha—“

“Bathrooms, yeah? Ten minutes,” he said quickly, taking a step back and patting Matty on the shoulder before walking back over to the lads.

Matty was glued to floor, he was pretty positive, and he picked up his shot, downing it quickly. He wiped at his mouth with the back of his sleeve, shaking his head, and he made his way back over to the table where George was laughing at him. “What?” Matty asked with a pout.

“How’s your boyfriend?” George teased. 

Matty frowned. “Asked me to meet him in the loos, actually,” he grumbled. “Don’t know why.”

George scoffed, leaning over the table to shake Matty’s shoulders. “Then what are ya doin’ here, mate? Go!”

And Matty didn’t, definitely _did not,_ trip over his own feet as he made his way towards the loo. He vaguely registered passing Harry’s band mates, raising a hand in a half-wave, without even realizing that Harry wasn’t there which meant— Yeah, that meant that Harry was _waiting_ for him and, fuck, that was—that was _mental._ Matty stepped into the bathroom at the same time he took a deep breath; he wasn’t used to being unprepared, wasn’t used to being caught off guard, but he didn’t know what to _expect_ with Harry. And he had always fancied himself rather smooth, but—he felt completely out of his comfort zone where Harry was involved, and he didn’t hate it. He pursed his lips as his eyes landed on Harry, who was busy checking every stall and frowning. “Mate—“

“Just making sure we’re alone,” Harry told him, sending him a sheepish smile over his shoulder. “Cal’s waiting outside.”

“Cal?”

Harry shrugged. “My pal.”

Matty’s eyebrows rose. “That bloke who never leaves your side?”

“Hey,” Harry drew out with a pout, “Cal’s a good lad.”

“Never said he wasn’t,” Matty pointed out.

Harry paused before shrugging again. “That’s true.”

Matty pursed is lips again and nodded slowly, a slightly awkward silence falling over them. He glanced down at his boots, scuffing them across the white tiled floor; once they left a brown mark, he dug the ball of his foot down, shifting until the mark was nearly faded. Once he looked back up again, he could practically feel himself shrink under Harry’s intense and unwavering gaze. “So…”

“Yeah.” Harry cleared his throat and smoothed his hands over his unruly curls, over the ridiculously expensive Alexander McQueen bandana holding them away from his face.

Matty laughed a little, mainly to fill the silence that had taken over the bathroom; he could feel the bass from the music thumping through the walls, but it felt like he could hear a pin drop with the way he and Harry were just _staring_ at one another. “So, um, thanks for, y’know, being a good—a good sport with it, yeah? Like—“ he cut himself off with an uncharacteristic little laugh— _not a giggle,_ he told himself, _not._ “Sorry, m’just—m’a little nervous around you,” he admitted. “You must think I’m mental.”

Harry smiled, a little lopsided and boyish, and he shrugged his broad shoulders, taking a step closer to Matty. “Not really. M’kinda used to people being nervous and mental,” he teased.

“S’good, makes me feel so much better,” Matty said with a roll of his eyes, leaning back against the wall, stuffing his hands into his pockets. 

“M’glad you called, though. It was nice, like, just…talking.”

Matty studied him for a minute, eyes narrowing just slightly. “You didn’t even blink when I said I needed money.”

Harry shrugged. “S’not a big deal. Would’ve given it to you anyway.”

“Yeah,” he mumbled, trailing off, and his eyes flickered down to Harry’s lips, the way his tongue darted out to wet them, and— Oh, okay, he was staring at Harry Style’s lips, and Harry Styles probably thought he was mental, and— And Harry Styles was stepping even closer, crowding into Matty’s space. 

“The lads will never let me live this down,” he muttered.

Matty frowned. “Live what down?”

“If I promise not to think you’re mental for calling me and asking me for money,” Harry started with a small smile, taking another step closer towards Matty until they were barely centimeters apart, “will you promise not to think I’m mental for kissing you?”

“Wha—“ Matty cleared his throat, shaking his head. “That’s—That’s _mental,_ ” he whispered. “Why would—“

Harry shrugged. “Because I want to,” he said simply, taking a deep breath. He waited for Matty to say something, to ask him not to, to push him away— _anything,_ but he _didn’t._ He stepped closer until Matty’s back was flat against the wall, cupping his cheeks in his hands, and he leaned in slowly until their lips were just barely touching, and he waited. 

It barely took Matty a fraction of a second until he was kissing back because that—that he could _do._ He was good at kissing, great even, one could even say fantastic (thanks, George), and that was an area that Matty was comfortable with—kissing, sex, whatever. He didn’t second-guess himself there, didn’t feel the need, and if that’s where Harry wanted to take it, well, Matty was all in. He wrapped his arms around Harry’s slim waist, dragging him closer.

Harry’s boots slipped on the floor and he let go of Matty’s cheeks, bracing his hands on the wall beside his head, not once breaking their kiss. He felt Matty’s hands slip under his plaid shirt, the plain shirt underneath, to press against the warm skin at the small of his back. Matty’s hand spanned across his back, holding him in place, while their lips worked together. And Harry might’ve initiated it, but Matty was taking control, and Harry was completely okay with that. 

Matty slid a hand into Harry’s curls, narrowly missing the stupid scarf that he was wearing, and tilted his head to the side. He slid his tongue across Harry’s full lip, slipping into his mouth, and he could practically feel Harry’s body shake with the moan he released. 

Harry gasped against him, one hand reaching for Matty’s shoulder to steady himself, their lips parting just long enough for Harry to breathe out, “Matty, touch me, fuck.”

Matty pressed his lips against the side of Harry’s neck, feeling his pulse race beneath him; he could feel Harry slump a little against his chest. “Harry—“

“Touch me, c’mon, please, fuck, want it so bad,” he panted.

“Yeah,” Matty whispered, his head going a little hazy because—fuck, Harry was practically _begging,_ and who was he to say no? He slid his hand from the small of Harry’s back to the front of his jeans rubbing against him through the material. He watched as Harry’s head fell back, the long line of his neck making Matty’s prick fatten up in his jeans. 

Harry smiled, just a little, as Matty started kissing along the line of his neck; he tightened his hold on Matty’s shoulder, fingers digging in, and he reached for Matty’s wrist. He pulled over his jeans, placing it across his stomach. “C’mon,” he urged, breathing heavily.

Matty bit his bottom lip, slipping his fingers inside of Harry’s jeans and pants, fingertips brushing across the coarse hair beneath. Harry whimpered a little, his eyes drifting shut, as Matty’s fingers reached the base of his cock. Matty couldn’t even think, could hardly breathe, as he twisted his wrist, forcing his hand in a little bit more, and he knew he should’ve unzipped Harry’s jeans but, fuck, he was a little preoccupied.

“Matty,” he whispered, fingertips tracing the vein across Matty’s forearm. 

“Fuck,” Matty breathed out, wrapping his hand around Harry’s length, and—

There was a banging at the door, loud and harsh, shaking them out the moment. 

Harry didn’t move, not for a couple of seconds, and he cursed under his breath. “That’s our sign.”

“Sign?” Matty asked, fingers still poised around Harry’s prick, mainly because he didn’t feel like moving, didn’t want to. 

“Cal and I came up with a sign before I came in here,” he shrugged. “We have to go. People will start talking.”

“Do you do this a lot?” Matty snapped before he could stop himself, angered at the mere thought of Harry hooking up with anyone else in a dodgy loo at some random pub.

Harry’s cheeks flushed and he shook his head. “No. I just…wanted to be careful if you—if you actually followed me.”

Matty sighed, head falling back against the wall, and he slipped his hand out of Harry’s trousers. “Alright,” he muttered, adjusting himself in his jeans before running a hand through his hair. “It was…nice to see you? Meet you?”

Harry laughed softly. “You think this ends here?”

Matty shrugged. “Yeah, I—I mean—“

“Come with me to mine,” Harry told him.

“I’m here with my mates,” Matty said with a frown, even though he knew none of them would care if he fucked off. 

Harry rolled his eyes. “Tell ‘em you’re leaving,” he replied easily. “Come home with me. We can finish where we left off, yeah?” he suggested, leaning in and brushing their lips together quickly. 

Matty nodded before he could talk himself out of it (because, really, that wasn’t going to happen). “Yeah. Yeah, alright. I just gotta get me jacket.”

Harry grinned. “Meet me at the door in five, yeah? I’ll get us to the car.”

 

+

 

Matty thought he was going blind; the flashes and lights from the cameras and paps waiting outside of the pub was beyond ridiculous. He reached for the bottom of Harry’s plaid shirt, twisting his fingers in it just so he wouldn’t lose him in the midst. He could hear Cal yelling, a bunch of words slurred from paps, and he could hear the camera shutters clicking. “Mate, how do you deal with this?” Matty asked loudly, raising his voice to ensure that Harry would hear him. 

Harry laughed, glancing back at Matty over his shoulder. “Stick with me, Healy,” he said with a wink, making his way through the crowd. He wasn’t really pushing, not really, because he was _Harry Styles_ and he was just so bloody nice; Matty didn’t get it. Harry got to the car and opened the back door, waving Matty in, climbing in after him. 

Matty groaned, his head spinning, still half-blind from the flashes of the cameras. He felt Harry’s fingers tugging on the collar of his jacket, pulling him forward and into a messy kiss that was more teeth and tongue than lips. Matty moaned softly, wrapping an arm around Harry’s waist and dragging him closer, before he realized where they were. He pulled back slowly, reluctantly, Harry’s tongue tracing his lips. “Wait, wait, Harry—shit—the driver—“

“Is compensated handsomely and signed a confidentiality agreement after Niall fucked some girl after a night in a pub,” Harry breathed against his lips, reassuring, running a hand down Matty’s chest. “C’mon,” he urged, pulling Matty back in kissing him again.

And Matty knew from that moment that he probably wouldn’t be able to say no to Harry, not to his big Bambi eyes, or his stupid little dimple, or the cute, lopsided pout that he tended to express in order to get his way. Matty let Harry climb onto his lap, pushing him back against the seat, let Harry kiss him until his breathing was uneven and he couldn’t even remember where he was. 

Harry trailed his lips across Matty’s cheek, down his jaw, nipping at the side of his neck. He felt, rather than heard, Matty’s moan as he bit at his ear, running his hand along Matty’s chest. 

“Harry—Fuck,” Matty groaned, sliding his fingers into Harry’s curls and holding him close. “If this is the reward I get for dealing with paps, I’ll go out with you a lot more often,” he teased.

Harry chuckled against his neck, feeling Matty quiver a little bit beneath him. “Mmm, yeah,” he agreed, his hand ghosting across Matty’s cock, palming him through his jeans. “Imagine what’ll happen after a cover story.”


End file.
